


We've All Been Here Before

by liamthebastard



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time Stiles has shown up at Derek's door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've All Been Here Before

**Author's Note:**

> idk how I feel about this but it's just gathering dust on my hard drive so I may as well post it.

**That Night**

“Is it alright if I stay the night?” he asks, looking at Derek seriously. Derek can hardly breathe as he gets hit with a sudden sense of deja vu. For a moment, instead of the adult in slacks and a button down, he sees an eighteen year old boy in baggy jeans and a witty tee shirt. 

*

**5 Years Before**

“Is it alright if I stay the night?” Stiles asked, already shedding his flannel and stepping out of his sneakers. God knows what Derek said, but it must’ve been in the affirmative, because seconds later Stiles’s jeans were gone too and he was curling up on the couch under a blanket.

Derek didn’t bother answering. “It’s cold, just come sleep in the bed,” he offered. Stiles looked startled, but followed when Derek headed into the loft’s bedroom. He slid under the covers when Derek gestured for him to, and Derek joined him a second later. It didn’t take long to notice the subtle shaking of Stiles’s body, and Derek had seen the unsteadiness in Stiles’s eyes the moment the door opened. For once, Stiles didn’t seem inclined to talk. Instead, as they lay in the dark, not yet asleep, Stiles shifted closer, until his head was pillowed on Derek’s chest and Derek’s arm had come up around his shoulders.

They fell asleep like that, Stiles with his entire body octopussed around Derek’s, and Derek tracing gentle patterns across his shoulder to help him relax.

When Derek woke up the next morning, the bed was empty, with a note folded on the pillow Stiles had used. _I’m sorry, this was a mistake._ Derek frowned at the note, but he understood. He wasn’t blind. Something was wrong with Stiles.

Ten minutes later his phone rang. Stiles was gone.

*

**4 Years Before**

A year after his disappearance, Stiles turned eighteen. The day after his birthday, they got a letter, three letters actually. One to the Sheriff, one to Scott, and one to Derek. They all said basically the same thing. That Stiles was fine, that he was sorry, that he couldn’t say much about why he’d left, just that it was to keep everyone safe. Only one thing was different. In the letters to Scott and the Sheriff, Stiles was sure to repeat that they shouldn’t come looking for him, that he’d taken precautions and that they wouldn’t be able to do it. In Derek’s letter, he just promised that he’d come home when it was safe. 

Still, Derek didn’t look for him. Scott was furious, yelling that if it was anyone else, Derek would’ve torn the world apart to find them. Derek shrugged, and let Scott’s anger run its course. After about a week, Scott came to find him and tried to apologize, but Derek wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t Scott’s fault, he was just worried about his friend and doing his best to help him. 

After the first letter, they’d get occasional correspondence from Stiles. Nothing regular, and nothing anyone could trace, but enough to know that Stiles was alive and okay. Scott and the Sheriff got the most letters, one would usually turn up near their birthdays, and for major holidays. Derek would only get two a year. One near Stiles’s birthday, and one on the anniversary of the fire. It was the only letter they could count on to arrive on a certain day, and that meant it was often rushed and scrawled. Just a note, to remind Derek he wasn’t alone. 

None of the letters revealed anything about Stiles’s life, but the one Derek got was important nonetheless. It brought Derek comfort, to know that Stiles was still thinking of him, even after all the time he’d been gone. 

Then, in the fifth year, no letter came.

*

**Earlier That Day**

It was a cold morning, just after the new year. Never a good time of year for Derek, especially not today. He’d stopped by the post office at least three times, and checked his own mailbox a dozen times. Same result each time - nothing. No letter, no note, nothing. 

Derek spent most of the day out at the old house, looking at the ground where his family home once stood. He’d finally had the structure torn down a year before. It’d been time to move on, and exorcising a few ghosts had been necessary. He still liked to go there now and then, to visit Laura’s grave, or to remember the good times he’d had there as a child. Once the burnt out husk was gone, it was easier to remember the house as it had been; whole, happy, full of light. Visiting the land had started to bring him peace, but today he couldn’t find it. 

Instead of thinking about his family, his sister, and everything he’d lost, all he could think about was Stiles. Why he hadn’t written, and all the things that could’ve kept him from writing. At first, Derek worried that maybe Stiles had been hurt, or even killed, but as the day wore thin, darker thoughts crept in. Thoughts like perhaps Stiles had finally given up on them, had found a new life out there that had completely replaced the one he’d led in Beacon Hills. By the time the sun set and Derek made his way back to his apartment, he was in a dour mood. 

To try and settle his thoughts, Derek sat down to read, but his attention kept straying. He kept at it, working through page after page of a poetry anthology, until finally he gave up and went to bed. Sleep didn’t come easy that night, and it was almost a relief when a knock sounded at the door, quiet and uncertain. Derek climbed out of bed, but didn’t bother to put on real clothes. He just yanked on a shirt and wandered to the door in boxers and bare feet. 

On the other side of the door stood a ghost.

*

**That Night**

“Stiles…” Derek whispers in surprise. The man on the other side of the door seems to be waiting for anger or tears. Instead, Derek reaches out and pulls Stiles to him in a crushing hug. He inhales hard, taking in Stiles’s scent. Stiles dissolves into the hug, letting Derek take his weight. A moment later, the air suddenly smells of salt, and Derek can feel his shoulder grow damp. “Shh, shh,” he soothes, ignoring the answering tears in his own eyes as he runs his hands over Stiles’s back. 

The wind outside picks up, making Stiles shiver, so Derek leads him inside, closing the door behind them. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles starts muttering into Derek’s chest. 

Derek shakes his head. “It’s okay,” Derek answers, “It’s okay, you’re safe.” Stiles just cries harder, shaking apart in Derek’s arms. Derek holds on, rocking back and forth a bit to try and settle Stiles enough to understand what was wrong. “Stiles, breathe. Just match your breathing to mine, okay? Just breathe.”

He takes a slow, deep breath to demonstrate, and exhales just as slowly. Stiles starts to make an effort, pressing his ear to Derek’s chest and visibly trying to breathe with him. After a few minutes, his breathing starts to slow down, and soon it’s back to normal. Stiles is still shaking every few seconds, but it’s died down to small tremors instead of the big full-bodied quaking of earlier. 

“This is not how I wanted this to go,” Stiles finally says. Derek huffs a laugh. 

“Things never go as planned with you,” Derek points out. Stiles nods, then steps back out of the embrace. Derek lets him go, reluctantly, and studies his face. Though the panic has faded, there’s still a deeply unsettled look on Stiles’s face. “Coffee?” Derek offers. 

Stiles nods, and follows him to the kitchen. Derek puts a pot on to brew, and Stiles sits down at the kitchen table, leans his face into his hands. 

When the coffeemaker beeps, Derek automatically pours two mugs, and mixes Stiles’s up the way he used to take it without thinking. He just puts the drink in front of the man and takes a seat across from him. “What is it?” Derek asks. 

Stiles lifts his head, takes a drink, almost smiles when he tastes it. “I- I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here,” Stiles admits. 

“That must be new for you,” Derek teases, hoping it’ll help Stiles relax. It works, Stiles looks up and gives him a weak chuckle. “Start at the beginning. Why’d you leave?”

“I had to. There wasn’t any other way,” Stiles says. Derek raises an eyebrow at him to make him keep going. Stiles sighs. “After the Nemeton… well, things started to come, right? And with my spark, I was drawing even more here. Things that could sense it, that wanted my power, and that were willing to do anything for it. I couldn’t stay here. So I ran.” 

Derek frowns. “We could’ve protected you, Stiles, you didn’t have to go-”

“Yeah, I did, Der. Because you all would’ve jumped in front of a bullet for me, but this would’ve killed you eventually. And I’m not gonna be responsible for more death, Derek, I’m just not,” Stiles insists, his hands going up in exasperation. 

He settles, and gives Derek a chance to speak. “I understand,” he finally says. “I just… I don’t like that you had to do that. I- we missed you, when you were gone.” 

“I missed you, too. It took everything to keep away for so long,” Stiles says, like it’s a secret. 

He looks so worn out, exhausted even. As if he’d driven all night and all day to get to Derek. “C’mon,” Derek says, moving the coffee out of Stiles’s reach before he can drink more and force himself to stay awake. “You’re tired, let’s go to bed.”

Stiles stands up, and lets Derek take his hand and lead him upstairs. When they reach his room, Derek climbs into bed while Stiles changes. Almost robotically, Stiles slips off the dress shirt but leaves on the white undershirt and takes off his belt and slacks, revealing a pair of Batman boxers. Derek chuckles under his breath at them. Stiles makes a questioning sound. 

“Some things never change,” Derek says, gesturing to the boxers. Stiles laughs a bit, and the sound makes Derek grin. It’s been so long since he’s heard it, even a small laugh is enough to make his heart pound. Derek reaches out and tugs Stiles towards bed. The younger man stumbles a bit but slips into bed, settling against Derek’s chest when Derek wraps an arm around him. 

It’s quiet for a time, and Stiles’s breathing is a steady counterpoint to how hard Derek’s heart is hammering. 

“Your heart,” Stiles mutters. “‘S all… loud.”

Derek rubs his hand in circles between Stiles’s shoulderblades. “I don’t know if this is real,” he confesses. “It could just be a dream.”

Stiles props himself up a bit on Derek’s chest, enough that they can make eye contact. He lifts a hand up and grabs Derek’s free hand. He links them together in the air, bringing them into Derek’s range of vision. “Ya know how you can tell dreams from reality?” Stiles says. “Count the fingers.” He presses their hands flat and counts each finger, pushing each one as he counts. 

“One,” the thumb. “Two,” the index finger. “Three,” the middle. “Four,” the ring finger. “Five,” Stiles says, twining their pinkies together when he finished counting. He lowers his forehead to lean against Derek’s. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Derek asks, locking their hands together.

“That I was gone for so long.”

“You did what you thought you had to, and I would’ve done the same,” Derek says, even though it’s tough to admit. 

“Sorry I didn’t write today, then,” Stiles replies, squeezing his hand. 

Derek smiles a little. “Stiles, I’ll take you over a note any day.”

Stiles’s cheeks flush red, but a small smile creeps across his face. “I have more, you know. Letters that I never sent you. I went everywhere, Der, and I wrote everything I did down. And then I’d edit it all out and send a few sentences once every couple months, to make sure you didn’t worry too much.”

“What’d you have to write about?” Derek asks.

“Well, I didn’t just spend the time running. I found some people like me after the first few months, they helped me learn a lot,” Stiles explains. “And once I got good, I started helping others out. There was this thing with an _uktena_ out in South Carolina, it was ridiculous.”

Part of Derek wants to ask what on earth an _uktena_ is, but most of him is just happy to listen to Stiles talk, to know that he’s here and real. Stiles’s heart beats slow and reassuring, and Derek relaxes even more into the bed with Stiles weight pressing against his side, warm and real. 

He drifts off, feeling fully at ease for the first time in years.

*

**The Next Morning**

Derek wakes slowly, the sunlight through the window waking him in increments. When he finally opens his eyes, Stiles is already awake, but hasn’t moved from the bed. Derek smiles at him, feeling warm and indulgent. Stiles returns the smile, eyes golden in the early morning light, and leans forward, pausing with his lips just a breath away from Derek’s. 

“Is this alright?” Stiles asks. 

“Yeah,” Derek answers, but doesn’t wait for Stiles to move. Instead he moves closer, pressing their lips together in a tender kiss. It’s a long time coming, and so sweet and perfect it guts Derek. He makes a wounded noise when Stiles parts his lips and the kiss warms until Derek and Stiles have melted into each other. When they finally part, Derek can’t keep himself from pressing smaller kisses across Stiles’s face. “It’s more than alright.”


End file.
